by Kira Blakely
Fireworks popped and sparkled overhead and Pammy cut off to clap. A thrill passed through the crowd, thicker now that we’d reached the outskirts of the town square, and people applauded. Kids cried out and clapped their sticky hands.
Kids.
And there it was.
I was right back at babies, and pregnancy.
Bodies pressed against me, Pammy elbowed me, accidentally, and excited faces turned upward to take in the show. Heat, sweat, stickiness. The back of my neck prickled, and I shivered despite it all.
I have to get out. Out of here.
Color exploded overhead, reds and blues and shoots of green, and my heart thudded against the inside of my ribcage. I lost my breath.
I backpedaled. Stepped on someone’s toes and received a “Watch where you’re going,” in return.
Pammy didn’t notice my distress; she was glued to the vision overhead, grinning, the fireworks reflected in her eyes.
I couldn’t take another second. All of it amalgamated in my mind. This small town with all its people, pressed into this tiny space, and none of them were the man who I truly wanted to see. Or did I?
I pressed both hands to my stomach. Nope. This was it. I was officially going to hurl.
I could try pretending that this was totally fine. The fact that I was pregnant was no big deal, right? But it wasn’t. None of this was fine.
Panic alert! screamed my nervous system. She’s going code red again.
I turned and shoved through the crowd, drawing yells and anger in my wake, but I couldn’t care less. The beauty of this summery night, with its heritage and fireworks and tangy-sweet meat, was lost on me.
The crowd bubbled outward and spat me into the street. I gasped and spluttered, wiped sweat from my brow. My vision speckled gray, and I stumbled toward a bench near a street lamp, empty now that everyone milled around on the green grass.
I plonked on to it and gripped my head in both hands.
It’s OK. This is OK. Just breathe. Don’t panic. You’re going to do this and you’ll be strong and nothing will stop you. A baby is a good thing. Always a good thing.
Houston’s face lifted from the haze in my brain and swam before me. A gorgeous reminder of what’d happened. After he’d left, after that sweet week of sneaking around with him, making love and laughing, and getting to know each other, I’d spent a week crying on and off.
And I’d been so angry with myself for liking him this much, addictive as he’d been.
Now, I let the tears fall. They splotched onto my skirt, and I sniffled. “Stop,” I whispered. “This is stupid. You’re OK.”
“Are you sure, dear?” A woman’s voice cracked through this intensely private moment.
I looked up and blinked through my tears.
In her sixties, with her hair dyed chestnut brown and drawn back into an elegant French knot, she was the exact opposite of me. Composed, elegant in a loose silk blouse and a pair of flowy tailored pants. A string of pearls adorned her pale décolletage.
My jaw dropped.
“I know you,” the woman said and took a seat beside me. She didn’t touch me, but the warmth of her gaze comforted me nevertheless. She was motherly and sweet, and a strong hankering for home beset me. “You’re the teacher at Daisy Oaks, correct?”
I wiped my hands on my skirt, then proffered one, shaking a little. “Charlie Stinson,” I said.
“Charlotte,” she agreed and broke into a beauteous smile. “I’m Clarissa Pope.”
“P-Pope.” Oh god, this was a relative of Houston’s. This was his mother, wasn’t it? He’d mentioned her to me once or twice over the week we’d been together. Oh god, worst nightmare happening.
“You’re not going to tell an inappropriate joke, are you? Something about the pope in the woods?” Clarissa asked.
“No,” I managed.
“What a pity,” Clarissa said. “Now, dear, I believe you’re well acquainted with my son.”
If my jaw could’ve dropped any farther, it would’ve fallen right off or unhinged like a snake’s. Ew, terrible metaphor.
“No need to gape,” Clarissa said and gently tapped the underside of my chin.
I snapped my mouth shut.
“News travels quickly in Summit Springs, particularly when it involves a young, handsome doctor.” Fireworks cracked overhead and she jumped, then tut-tutted. “I don’t usually come to these events, but I thought I’d give it a try tonight. I think that’s rather serendipitous, don’t you?”
“Why?” I asked.
Clarissa turned her sharp, turquoise gaze on me. “Because you must come to dinner, dear. Next week some time, when you’re feeling better. What do you say?”
I opened my mouth but no sound came out. This was—surreal. Houston was gone. How weird would it be for me to befriend his mother, particularly in my current situation? Pretty damn weird.
“Yes, of course,” Clarissa said and patted my cheek. For a little lady, she sure had a lot of power. She rose from the bench, just as Pammy burst from the crowd and spotted me. “Have a lovely evening, dear. I’ll be in touch.”
And with that, she toddled off and left me in total mental disarray.
Chapter 12
Houston
“That’s it for today,” I said and halted in front of the nurses’ station in the maternity ward. Thankfully, it was clear except for Jason, who’d already donned his white doctor’s coat and held a pen and a clipboard, scribbling away.
Whenever I arrived at the nurses’ station, a slew of sighs followed me. The women here adored me, and it grated my ass like aged cheese. God damn, couldn’t they remain professional?
“That’s it?” Jason asked, stifling a yawn with his pen and failing miserably. His blond hair was parted to one side, and two beetle-brown eyes, rimmed red now, considered me above a hooked nose. My buddy above all buddies. He’d stuck his neck out for me.
“That’s it,” I replied and grinned at him.
“How did it go with Mrs. LeBlanc?” Jason asked and flipped up a page on his clipboard.
“No complications. Smooth birth. Twins,” I replied. “Fraternal twins born about a minute apart.” The woman had soldiered through it. She wasn’t a complainer, though she’d been a screamer, the loudest I’d had in years. “You heard the screams, I’m sure.”
Jason chuckled. “Everyone heard the screams. Sometimes I wonder if they scream louder just to piss you off.”
“I don’t think it’s a conscious choice, Jase. Mrs. LeBlanc was in incredible pain. Picture stretching your nutsack up and over your head and maybe you’ll get what I’m talking about,” I replied, evenly.
“Right, because you’ve felt that before.”
“Hey, I’ve traveled. I spent a weekend in Tijuana.”
“I don’t want to know,” my buddy said and swished his pen back and forth in front of my nose. “So, you’re going home?” Smooth topic change, as usual.
“Technically,” I replied, because Anchorage wasn’t home yet. Nothing had felt like home for a damn long time, apart from one week in Summit Springs, filled with laughter and—
I cut that shit off directly. Fuck that. I had my career to worry about.
I wasn’t about to pine for anybody. Least of all a woman who smelled of rose petals and made my dick throb so hard I could hardly think straight.
God, her body twisting beneath my hands, her silky soft skin, and that ass. Pear-shaped and perfect. I could fall in love with an ass like that.
“Pope,” Jason said.
“Huh?”
“You zoned out for a second there. Where are you?”
“I’m already sleeping. It’s been one helluva day,” I replied, then rearranged the pen in the top pocket of my coat. “I’ll see you later, Jase. Probably when Mrs. Carter goes tonight.” I restrained a scowl.
Mrs. Carter was the epitome of a complainer. I’d already caught her yelling at a nurse for bringing her ice chips instead of water—naturally, she wasn’t allowed flu
ids—and I’d had to put her in her place.
Which had, of course, resulted in hormonal tears and a tantrum. I didn’t play that shit. She could get on board with what we did here or pop that baby out herself. I had the distinct impression that the latter didn’t appeal to her.
“Take it easy,” Jase said and patted me on the shoulder. “We should catch up later for a coffee or something. I’ll be in the cafeteria.”
“Of course you will be,” I replied. Jason was always in the cafeteria—I suspected he had a crush on one of the nurses but hadn’t made his move yet. He was the cautious one who cared about making people happy.
I was the dick who took what I wanted.
I ambled past my buddy with the barest hint of a smile. I’d been running on fumes for the past six weeks. When I’d arrived, I’d thrown myself into the job, done as much as I could, stayed in the hospital even when I wasn’t technically needed, all because I needed to put her out of my mind.
One week and leaving Summit Springs had been near impossible. I’d almost turned around on the freeway. I’d almost gotten off the plane. I’d barely resisted messaging Charlie this entire time.
I didn’t do relationships. I had work and that was my life and that was all I needed.
Period. End of story. No sequels.
It was easier said than done.
I made it all the way home to my apartment on Latouche Street without thinking about Charlie Stinson.
Lies, of course. I’d thought about her hair, the rose petals, the taste of her lips, and the warmth of her in my arms. One week. We’d laughed and talked and fucked. That was all.
I let myself into the entrance hall and kicked the door shut behind me, clicked on the light on the wall and cast the cream carpet into sharp relief. Teal walls, a dark leather sofa and wooden flooring that led into the kitchen beyond. This place was simple.
No paintings on the walls except for one map of Alaska in the living room proper. No TV. A bookshelf with a couple classic novels and medical textbooks, but I wasn’t into any “light” reading tonight.
Apparently, I was into obsessing over a woman I hardly knew.
How had she crawled under my skin this fast?
It’d been years since I’d endured a relationship, and that’d hardly lasted a fucking month. I couldn’t stand stupidity. I despised petty arguments. People who stood in the way of what I truly wanted were an annoyance.
Women were unpredictable, too. One minute they were kind, the next—
I shook off my coat. Summer in Alaska and it was only fifty-five damn degrees. I wasn’t accustomed to this weather.
Great, now I’m thinking about the weather to distract myself.
I fixed myself dinner instead, lean steak on a bed of greens, and ate mechanically in the kitchen, not tasting the salt, the lemon juice, anything I’d added. I showered, got ready for bed, and clambered onto the queen-sized bed, all before nine.
I slept when I could and as often as I could when I was on call, and with a rash of mothers ready to pop, I wouldn’t take any chances.
I clicked the button on my remote and the blinds closed and cut off the sunshine outside. Yeah, it was June, and the sun still hadn’t gone down. I bathed myself in blessed darkness and lay back.
Charlie.
“Fucking hell,” I grunted and pushed myself upright. I had to get this shit off my mind.
It wasn’t that I still wanted her; it was that I was worried about her. That was all. I’d witnessed that scumbag pinning her against her desk. The memory made my blood boil.
I snatched my iPad off the bedside table, didn’t bother switching on the bedside light, and unlocked the screen.
It took me two minutes to bring up the community Facebook page for Summit Springs. For them, this was gossip central. I only knew about it because my mother always “kept abreast” of the latest goings-on in town.
Happy pictures appeared, framed by the night sky and a splash of fireworks.
None of them were of Charlie, but they were all captioned almost exactly the same.
So and So celebrates the Summit Springs Summer Festival 2018.
Mr. Nobody and wife Mrs. Nobody enjoy barbeque at the Summer Festival!
I clicked through them all and didn’t spot anyone I cared about. Sure, plenty of faces I recognized, but none that mattered to me. Not my mother, not Charlie.
I abandoned the effort and scrolled down the page instead.
Another post dominated the page several beneath it, this a picture of the staff at Daisy Oaks Kindergarten. My heart did a flip-flop.
There she was, sandwiched between two other teachers. The rest of the picture blurred around her. Charlie with her forever-blue eyes and that raven-black head of hair, like gossamer strings dipped in ink.
Fuck me.
My pulse had gone up. That was bad news. I pressed two fingers to my throat, then dropped them again and expanded the image to take up the screen, apart from the side bar on the right, which held the comments.
My son loves it at Daisy Oaks! one woman had commented—Jessica R.
And just beneath it, another had replied. Jenny Harrington. Mine did, too, until recently.
Oh, what happened? Jessica asked, and tagged the wretch in the comment.
They’ve lowered their standards totally. They’re employing people who aren’t as qualified as they should be in my humble opinion. It’s really sad. Jenny didn’t seem sad, and I sincerely doubted any of her opinions were humble. I’m considering sending my Timmy darling to boarding school because of this. Sad.
I wasn’t clued up on who the new hires were at Daisy Oaks, but Charlie was one of them.
And Mrs. Harrington looked like the type of bitch who got jealous easy. I clicked on her and clenched the iPad a little too hard—it gave a squeak-crack of complaint.
Mrs. Harrington had her arms wrapped around the same sonofabitch who’d cornered Charlie.
Christ, this gave me a sour taste in my mouth and a shitty feeling in my gut.
Charlie wasn’t helpless, of course, but she did need help. And I couldn’t offer it to her.
No, I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t root up my entire life on the hint of a suspicion that she might run into trouble with some bitchy mommy in Summit Springs. I was a world away from the place for fuck’s sake.
I exited the picture, then typed out Charlie’s name in the search box. I pulled up a profile, opened it. Thank god, she had her privacy settings locked down tight. I clicked the message button, hesitated, my fingers on the keyboard.
What are you going to type, jackass? Hi, remember me? I fucked you for a week straight then left. Oh, be careful of that Harrington bitch. I blew my lips like a horse.
No, this was ridiculous.
I shut Facebook down and clicked off the iPad, then I slid it back onto the bedside table.
Sleep didn’t come for hours.
Chapter 13
Charlie
A week had passed since the Summer Festival and the weird run-in with Clarissa Pope, and I still hadn’t told anyone—not a soul, not even Pammy—about my brewing situation. Or was it baking?
Bun in the oven? Ha, ha, hilarious, Charlie, way to make light of a not-so-funny situation.
I shifted at my desk in the classroom, quiet now that the kiddies had gone home, and turned the thick, velvety card over and over in my hand. I traced the calligraphy writing on the front.
Charlie Stinson.
I’d already memorized the words inside, but I flipped it open again, anyway.
Miss Stinson,
Please join me for dinner on the 30th of June 2018 at 8 p.m. Your response will be greatly anticipated.
All my regards,
Clarissa Pope.
She’d actually gone through with it. She’d invited me, and I had to figure out what I’d do about it. On one hand, I really wanted to avoid any contact with anyone at the moment, and on the other, the thought of walking through the house that’d once been Houston’s excited
me.
How pathetic was that?
I’d known the guy for a week. But maybe, seeing how he’d lived would give me a better idea of who he was, who I’d accidentally fallen for.
“Ugh, stop it. You didn’t fall for him. It’s just an obsession. You’re hormonal.” I slipped the card into my handbag again and went through the arts and crafts projects the kids had done today, instead. Paintings of their families. They were more like splotches and smears, but the pencil drawings they’d done underneath were adorable.
Little circular or blocky figures to represent themselves and their moms and dads.
And what would my baby draw one day?
Just me. Just him or her.
God, I still had to go for a checkup and get my prenatal meds, but the thought of seeing a doctor in the very same office I’d met Houston… ugh, it sent me into another panic spiral.
I lifted one of the pictures and smiled at the colors, purple, yellow and a splash of black, then slipped it on top of the pile again. I had to get home. I had to tell Pammy about this.
She’d give me advice—after she’d caught her breath or tossed back a glass of wine, of course.
I’d put this off for too long already.
Goal one: tell Pammy about this. Let her know that soon, there’ll be someone else living in the house.
God, that was ridiculous. I’d likely have to move.
I shuddered. The mommies at Daisy Oaks would have a field day with this gossip.
At least I had the summer vacation to deal with this on my own. Thankfully, today had been the final day of school for me. Some of the children would continue in the holiday program, but I had a break.
A long, lovely break from the stares of moms and dads, disapproving or otherwise.
Gossip didn’t matter.
Yeah, it does.
“No. It doesn’t matter,” I muttered and rearranged the pictures on the corner of the desk. I lifted my bag and rose from the seat with a sigh. I drew my cell out of the pocket of my skater dress and unlocked the screen.